I'm a tiny bit obsessed with tiny houses right now. If you're not familiar with the term, go look it up on Instagram. A Tiny House [TM] is not just a small house. Nope It's an impeccably crafted mini-house, usually in a obscenely beautiful location. It's usually a two story A-frame house but is a weird juxtaposition of inefficient and super efficient use of space. There are few interior walls but at least half the upper level is just a high ceiling instead of actual rooms. There are so many luxurious details and locations and yet so little space. You could entertain ten people on the outdoor deck but no more than two people, preferably one, could live in a tiny house. You couldn't do laundry or cook much more than heat up leftovers or make sandwiches, and the stairs are usually an OSHA violation. Good luck if one partner wants to sleep in and the other one wants to get up, and don't even think about snoring or taking a stinky dump in the bathroom.
After the last few years, I just want to decamp to a mythical tiny house in the woods with my cats and not come out until I'm fully menopausal. It will be a vision of minimalistic luxury. Joe can visit all he wants but will need to have his own Dude Cabin [TM] next door, because there will be no TV or clutter piles in the Tiny House. The mythical Tiny House of my dreams needs to have a beautiful location, hot tub, fast internet, access to food and cat food, and places to hike and swim. My Tiny House fantasy is kind of like a modern day version of Thoreau at Walden Pond, except instead of my mom bringing me lunch, I'll get meal prep kits and occasionally takeout. After several months of this, maybe even a year, I will emerge healthy, fit, and refreshed.
